


Someone You Loved

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Based on a Tumblr Post, Death Threats, First Dates, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, some smut if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: “You looked like you were talking to someone you loved,” Luna said, as if that explained everything. “By the way, you didn’t hang up.”“What?!”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 283





	Someone You Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Characters still belong to J.K. Rowling, but listen... we all know how I feel about her atm....  
> Based on a Tumblr post I saw a while back: "Person A has a phone call with B, while they're out with friends. After they hung up, one of them asks: 'Was that your S.O.? You two sounded so cute.' A sadly admits: 'Ha! No! I wish! But B doesn't see me like that.' What A doesn't realise is: they missed the button and B hears everything."

“Yeah? Oh hey. Yeah, I’m out with Ron and Hermione and everyone. Okay. Well, we’ll go over that tomorrow, alright? I know, I know, it’s my turn to get the coffee. Black, right, with two sugars? Cool. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry lowered the phone, shaking his head with a smile. The sun hung low in the sky in the late summer evening as he sat at a circular table in the beer garden of a pub overlooking the Thames. Ron and Hermione had gone to the bar to order the next round of drinks. Neville, who was visiting London before going back up to Hogwarts for the start of term, was deep in conversation with Ginny about her upcoming wedding. She had her arm on the back of her fiancée’s, Luna’s, chair, absent-mindedly playing with her long blonde hair. Luna, meanwhile, looked over at Harry, cocking her head as she considered him.

“Was that your partner?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he moved to put his phone back in the pocket of his leather jacket. “God, I wish,” he said, the words out before he realized what he said. His eyes widened. “I mean, what? No, that was Malfoy. He’s helping me on a case.”

Luna frowned. “So you’re not dating him?” she asked innocently. Harry let out a disbelieving laugh.

“What gave you that impression?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, even as his heart raced against his ribcage.

“You looked like you were talking to someone you loved,” Luna said, as if that explained everything. “By the way, you didn’t hang up.”

“What?!”

-

Draco stared at the phone in his hand. He swallowed hard. Luna’s distant voice played over and over in his head – _you looked like you were talking to someone you loved_. Even as his heart gave a little jump and skip of hope, he shot it down. He forced himself to put the phone down on the table, to let go. He leaned back in his chair and ran a long-fingered hand through his silvery hair as he thought.

This was madness, said the logical part of his brain. A misunderstanding. You heard what Potter said.

The other part of his brain, the one that was a 19th century poet in another life, insisted that he confront Potter about it tomorrow morning over coffee.

They had more important things to talk about, argued Logic, like the case of counterfeit healing potions being sold out of Knockturn Alley.

But what if Lovegood was right? the Poet insisted. Confess your feelings, and let truth win out!

You’re hopeless, said Logic. They were temporary coworkers, nothing more. Once the case was over, he would go back to being a consultant Potions Master, and Potter to being his heroic Auror self. They wouldn’t need to see each other again unless the Ministry called him in. It was just business.

Draco sighed. “Just business,” he told the empty room. He reached out for his evening glass of wine and downed the rest of the dregs. He stood and walked over to the sink, placing his empty glass in the basin. He would wash it later. For now, he was tired and confused. Tomorrow, he would see Potter to discuss the case, and what will be, will be. With this Zen outlook, he started to get ready for bed.

Of course, he then laid awake for hours planning out his outfit for the next day, only to fall asleep sometime past midnight. So much for Zen thinking.

-

When he arrived at Potter’s office that morning, Draco was surprised to find Potter already there, coffees waiting. He had almost gotten used to waiting outside Potter’s office for the other man to rush in as he had done for the past week, apologizing for being late and hair still wet from the shower. Today, Potter stood behind his desk, sorting out papers and looking far more put together than Draco had ever seen him. His pressed button-down was a shade of pale blue, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows to reveal his muscular forearms. His mess of black hair had been tamed somewhat so that it looked more artfully tousled than like bedhead. His dress pants actually fit him, highlighting his toned legs and… other things. His trademark leather jacket was on the back of his chair, his Auror robes on the coat stand next to his desk, although it had only just begun to cool off from the summer heat wave.

Draco stood frozen in the doorway. He swore under his breath. With Potter looking like that, there was no way he was focusing on the case today. Potter must have heard him. He looked up from the papers in his hand and grinned at Draco. Draco tried to pull his usual sneer, but it came off as more of a half-hearted smile as he forced his shaky legs to walk him over to the chair opposite Potter’s desk. He sat without a word and reached for the steaming coffee waiting for him.

“Good morning to you, too,” Potter said with a chuckle. “I got it from the café you like around the corner. I know how much you hate chain coffee shops.”

Draco took a sip of his coffee to hide the sappy look he knew threatened to spread across his face at that. It was indeed perfect – Potter had already added the sugar, which paired so well with the chocolate undertones of the coffee. Last night’s eavesdropping replayed in his mind. He bit his lip and set the coffee down as Potter took a seat. Potter pulled out the notes from their meeting yesterday, but before he could start, Draco blurted out,

“Are you doing anything this evening?”

Harry looked up in surprise. He pushed up his glasses, a nervous habit Draco had noticed over the past week. “Why do you ask?”

Good question. The Poet urged him on, but Logic was shaking its head, telling Draco to shut up, shut up now. Draco cleared his throat.

“Oh, er, you just look… nice. Special occasion?” Draco stuttered, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Potter gave him a crooked smile, his green eyes sparkling.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice low and soft. Draco hated what that voice did to him. Potter looked him up and down, biting his lower lip. Draco crossed his legs to hide how flustered this made him. Potter’s look was practically predatory. Finally, he continued, “Depends on how this case goes. I think we’re close to cracking it. Now, yesterday you said that whoever was selling these potions wasn’t making them in house, that they had to be getting them shipped in from somewhere. Remind me why that is?”

-

By that evening, they had brought the potion seller in for questioning and were close to pinning down the manufacturer, but the case was nowhere near done. The two of them stood in front of the evidence board – a corkboard on Potter’s office wall covered in their notes and photos of the suspects and the counterfeit potions – going over the leads on the manufacturer again and again. Potter fiddled with a ballpoint pen in his hand. Draco sipped at his fourth coffee of the day, his body jittery from the caffeine. Potter let out a small gasp, and Draco turned just in time to see him pull off the pen cap with his teeth and lunge forward to scribble a note on one of the pages pinned on the board.

“What is it?” Draco asked, trying not to stare at the pen cap Potter had dangling out of his mouth.

“I think I know where the manufacturer gets their supplies,” Potter said excitedly around the pen cap. He pulled it out of his mouth to speak more easily, forcing Draco to focus on what Potter was saying. “There’s a smuggling ring we busted a few months back that operated out of an illegal night market on the docks – all black market stuff, dark magic artefacts, that kind of thing. You said the potions they were selling required a monthly restock of crocodile hearts at the rate they were producing, and that crocodile hearts are super expensive because they can’t be imported by just anyone, right? They need a special permit.”

Draco nodded, somewhat stunned. Potter had been listening to him after all.

“Well,” Potter continued, jabbing his pen at his note, “I bet they’re getting them from this market for cheap. How else would they be able to produce so much of the potion without a large stock of the stuff? And they couldn’t replace it with anything because you said it was one of the few ingredients they couldn’t swap out, right? So….”

“So whoever is selling them the stuff must know who they are,” Draco finished, already reaching for his robes. “No time like the present. Let’s go.”

Harry beamed. He grabbed his leather jacket and Auror badge from his robes – “Don’t want to scare them off by wearing my uniform,” he explained when Draco raised an eyebrow – and off they went. A couple hours later, they had gotten an ID off of a merchant smuggling crocodile hearts, along with the last known whereabouts of the manufacturer. They passed on the intel to the Auror officers in charge of arrests and before midnight they had caught the man, a half-goblin named Orkin who was suspected of selling various illegal poisons as well as counterfeit potions. Draco and Potter walked out of the Ministry offices, exhausted but triumphant, close to one in the morning.

“Is this what every case is like?” Draco asked with a yawn. He stretched his arms over his head. He didn’t notice Potter staring at where Draco’s shirt, long untucked, rode up. When Draco looked over, Potter’s golden brown skin was flushed pink. Potter cleared his throat and checked his phone to hide his face.

“Uh, no,” Potter said, somewhat gruffly. “I mean, sometimes.” He put his phone away and glanced up. Any attempts to tame his hair had long been forgotten. His wild curls stuck up at odd angles from continuously running his hands through it all day. Draco found that he preferred it like that. He also found that even though it was incredibly late and every bone in his body wanted to sleep, he would stay up all night if it meant being with Potter. Harry. Who was looking at him now like Draco was a sunrise on a winter morning.

“Potter?” Draco asked, voice soft and unsure. He watched Harry’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. After hours of work, Draco smelled like too many coffees and sweat, and Harry didn’t smell much different, save the faintest traces of yesterday’s cologne, something smoky and spicy like whiskey.

“Er, Draco,” Harry began. Draco blinked, not used to Harry using his first name. “Would you – I know it’s late, and you probably just want to go home – ”

“Spit it out, Potter.” But there was no malice in it, just fond affection as Draco gave him a small half-smile.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?”

Draco opened and closed his mouth. His heart came to a full stop for a moment before restarting at a sprint. For once, Logic had nothing to say.

“Yes,” he managed to choke out. “I would like that.”

Harry beamed.

“Really? Great! I know just the place.”

-

Which is how Draco ended up in Harry’s flat at just past one in the morning. Apparently what Harry meant when he said that he knew a place was, in fact, his own kitchen. Harry had sold 12 Grimmauld Place – “It never felt like mine,” he explained as he poured them each a measure of Firewhiskey, “and not to mention it was creepy as hell, even after Hermione and I tried to redecorate.” His new place was a penthouse flat in a converted abbey, situated amidst the lofty roof complete with white-plastered arches still boasting their medieval mouldings, ancient oak beams and floorboards that squeaked beneath their feet. The flat was long but spacious and open plan, cosily lit by mid-century modern floor lamps and arranged with second-hand furniture. A black leather couch and two vintage-looking wing-backed armchairs sat around a stout coffee table with clawed feet, and a desk was pushed up against one of the tall arched windows. The kitchen looked the most modern, but even the butcher-block countertop appeared hand-crafted, and the way the cupboards accommodated one of the vaulting arches made it seem like they had always been there. At the far end, the bedroom was screened from view by the kitchen wall, while another wall cordoned off what must be the bathroom. Draco sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in the kitchen and looked around, impressed and strangely nostalgic.

“It reminds me a bit of Hogwarts,” Harry said, catching the expression on Draco’s pointed face. Draco nodded. It did look like a slightly modernised Hogwarts. “It also weirdly reminds me of my cupboard from when I lived with the Dursleys,” Harry continued. He gestured with his glass at the sloping ceilings. “I think it’s how close the ceilings are in some parts. At least there aren’t too many spiders.”

Draco’s brow furrowed as he turned back to Harry standing behind the breakfast bar. “Cupboard?” Draco asked, the word forming hesitatingly in his mouth as if it was something foreign. Harry nodded and took a sip of his whiskey. “What are you talking about, Potter?”

“Oh.” Harry set his glass down on the countertop. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” A prickle of unease ran down Draco’s spine at the shadows in Harry’s eyes. He recognised the emotions that flashed there – embarrassment, shame, fear, pain. They were the same emotions he felt when he looked at his Mark, even beneath the tattoos he had gotten to cover it.

“Well, I grew up with Muggles,” Harry began slowly. He spun his glass around in circles, not meeting Draco’s eyes. “My aunt and uncle, and their son, Dudley. I still talk to him every so often, but… well, things will never be great between us. Anyway, er, I never got on with my aunt and uncle, they didn’t like my parents, and didn’t much like me either. Loved their son, but not me. I was nothing like them.” His lips crooked into a half-hearted smile. “I look like my dad, so of course I didn’t fit in to their perfect white, middle-class life.” He gestured vaguely at himself, at his wild black curls and dark skin, at his small, slight build. Draco’s stomach twisted as he listened.

“So, before I went to Hogwarts, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs,” Harry continued, his voice forced into nonchalance, as if every eleven-year-old lived in cupboards. “They moved me into the spare bedroom when all the letters started showing up, so it wasn’t like I was in the cupboard every summer, but… that cupboard was my childhood. If I wasn’t at school or doing chores around the house, I was in that cupboard.” Only then did Harry look up at Draco over the top of his glasses, as if to gauge Draco’s reaction. Something about Draco’s pale cheeks and wide eyes made him say in a rush, “I’m fine now, obviously.”

Draco leaned forward, his elbows braced on the countertop, staring seriously at Harry who kept fidgeting under his gaze. “Harry,” he said, his voice soft but dangerously quiet. Harry’s eyes widened and he froze, his only movement being the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “You know that’s child abuse, right? Gods, no wonder you’re so small.”

Harry blushed furiously. “I’m not that small,” he mumbled, taking a long drink of his whiskey to avoid Draco’s gaze.

“You’re tiny and you know it. That’s what makes you such a good Seeker.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. “Fair enough. You got lucky though, you had a nice growth spurt in, what, third year? Maybe that’s why you’re such a shitty Seeker,” he added with a mischievous smile.

“Fuck off, Potter, I’m a great Seeker.”

“Oh, so why is it Slytherin never won the House Cup?”

“Because Dumbledore was biased, obviously.”

“Really? Didn’t have anything to do with my great athletic talent?”

Draco rolled his eyes and chuckled. Harry’s shoulders relaxed. Draco wanted to ask him more about his life with the Dursleys, find out exactly what those monsters did to the Golden Boy, but he held off. He’d pried enough. He searched Harry’s face, lingering on the pale bolt of lightening on his forehead, on the dark stubble that shadowed his strong jaw, the quirk of his lips. Harry noticed and cocked his head to one side.

“Like what you see, Malfoy?” he asked in a tone both teasing and alluring, enough to make Draco shiver as he tightened his grip on his whiskey. Draco took a sip as he thought over his options.

“Could be worse,” he said finally, as deadpan as he could. Harry barked out a laugh. He shook his head at Draco, who smiled back. Harry let out a small sigh and, leaving his whiskey behind, came around the breakfast bar, one hand trailing on the countertop. Draco felt his breath catch in his chest as his heart fluttered somewhere deep in his stomach. Harry walked right up to where Draco perched on his stool, standing between Draco’s legs and looking up at him through thick black lashes. Draco swallowed hard. There were flecks of gold and hazel in Harry’s emerald green eyes, and this close Draco could see a hint of another small scar, a nick just below his left eye from some forgotten fight.

“I think you’re lying,” Harry said huskily. He brought his hands onto Draco’s thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze through the thin fabric of his trousers. Draco reminded himself to breathe. Harry’s hands rubbed up and down his thighs, his thumbs dragging deliciously along his inseam. His gaze flickered between Draco’s grey eyes to his pink lips as he licked his own lips. “I think you do like what you see. Quite a bit, if I’m not mistaken.”

Draco knew in that moment that he was well and truly screwed.

To Harry’s surprise, Draco answered him by leaning forward and kissing him, hard. Harry let out a small undignified noise, but quickly turned the situation to his advantage. He moved to grip Draco’s hips, pulling himself right into the circle of Draco’s legs as he deepened the kiss. Draco gasped into his mouth as their hips came together, his hands tangling themselves in Harry’s thick, coarse hair. It was everything he wanted and more. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s low back, holding him there. Harry pushed a hand up Draco’s chest, his touch searing Draco’s skin through the dress shirt. Draco pulled away with a sharp intake of breath as his fingers brushed up against a nipple. Harry raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured. Draco nodded, biting his bruised and sore lips to hold back a moan as Harry’s warm fingertips traced the outline of his nipple. Harry trailed sloppy kisses along Draco’s jaw and down his neck, mouthing at the skin as his fingers worked to unbutton Draco’s shirt. Draco leaned his head back, exposing his neck, his grip on Harry’s hair tightening as he let himself enjoy the pleasure of the moment. Merlin, if his family saw him now… best not to think of that as Harry sucked a hickey above his collarbone. Harry pushed Draco’s shirt off his shoulders and it cascaded to the floor, forgotten. When Harry’s fingers returned to their ministrations to Draco’s nipples, Draco let out a slew of swears and curses, his voice high-pitched and breathy. His hips bucked up against Harry’s. They both moaned as they ground together, Harry resting his forehead on Draco’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

“God, you feel so good,” Harry groaned. He dropped one of his hands to palm at Draco’s erection through his trousers. Draco let out an embarrassing keen and blushed furiously at his own wantonness. Harry chuckled darkly. “Bed,” he growled, “Now.”

Draco did not know how his life had turned into a bodice-ripping romance novel, but he was not about to object, especially not when Harry bodily picked him and carried him into the bedroom, despite Draco being significantly taller than him.

“I could have walked, you know,” Draco pointed out with a grin. Harry lowered him onto the bed and shrugged.

“This seemed easier,” he replied. “Besides, I might be shorter, but I am a heck of a lot stronger than you.”

“How dare you!” Draco gave an exaggerated gasp and clutched his imaginary pearls as he leaned back on the bed. “I’m strong!”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not strong enough to carry another person, but we can’t all be super fit.”

Harry smirked in triumph. But then his eyes fell to Draco’s chest, and his smirk fell away. He reached out and traced the scars that slashed across the pale skin. His fingers shook as he passed over a particularly long one, the tissue raised and silvery, catching in the light.

“I did this,” he whispered, his voice thick. Draco closed his eyes. In his mind, he remembered it all – the dimly lit bathroom, Moaning Myrtle screaming; his own voice as he, in anger and fear and mortification, tried to use the Cruciatus curse, knowing even as he cast it that he didn’t mean it; Harry’s voice crying, “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”; pain, and so much blood… He opened his eyes with a sigh. There were tears in Harry’s eyes, just as there were back then when he had fallen to his knees besides Draco, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

“We were kids,” Draco murmured. “Kids playing at being soldiers.”

“I wasn’t playing,” Harry said. He blinked and a few tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks. “And neither were you.”

Draco reached up and covered Harry’s trembling hand with his own, holding it against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said. He held Harry’s face with his other hand, brushing away the tears with his thumb. “It’s over now. It’s just a memory.”

Harry nodded, leaning into Draco’s hand on his cheek. Draco pulled him down into a long, lingering kiss, pulling away every now and then to kiss away the tears. With each touch, Draco tried to let Harry know that this was starting over, this was forgiveness, this was what he promised to give and more.

They didn’t get much farther that night, instead spending the next hour or so lazily making out on the bed, every so often chatting about one thing or another. Eventually they both drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

-

Draco awoke with a start. He sat up in the bed, gasping and looking frantically around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was only when his gaze fell on the man next to him that he began to remember.

Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he propped himself up on one arm. “Nightmare?” he mumbled groggily. “Tell me about it. What happened?”

Draco rubbed his face with his hands, his mind still catching up with reality. “Snake,” he managed, his hands now running through his hair as the nightmare replayed in his head. “Nagini. Wrapped around me. Was going to kill me. Bodies, everywhere, so much blood.” He jumped when he felt Harry’s hand on his back. When his hand began to rub gentle circles between Draco’s shoulder blades, Draco slowly relaxed into the touch. He slumped wearily. “It’s been so many years, but I can still hear him,” he murmured. Harry nodded.

“I know,” Harry said, his voice soft and sympathetic. “So do I.”

Draco turned into Harry’s arms, resting his head on Harry’s warm chest. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him close, pressing a kiss on top of his head as he murmured, “I got you, you’re okay.” Draco let out a shaky sigh. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see the stricken faces, the blood thick on the tile floors, could feel Nagini crushing his ribcage. He took a deep, steadying breath, breathing in the smell of Harry, sweat and coffee and whiskey. Slowly, the dream slipped away, and his waking world grew solid and real. Harry smoothed back Draco’s hair from his forehead, pressing another kiss there, rocking him slightly as he held him. Draco realised, then, that if there was anyone who understood his nightmares, it was Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Draco mumbled against Harry’s chest.

“What for?” Harry murmured, pressing his cheek to the top of Draco’s head. Draco gestured weakly at their embrace. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “I can’t imagine – yours must be so much worse, I shouldn’t, you shouldn’t have to deal with mine too….”

Harry gave him a small squeeze. “There is nothing to deal with,” he said firmly. “I’m here for you, Draco. For all of it.”

Draco hiccoughed. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled them both back down to the bed, nestled in each other’s arms. “You cheesy git,” he mumbled into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry chuckled. He turned his head and kissed Draco’s temple three times in quick succession, before settling himself back onto the pillows.

“Good night, prat,” Harry murmured with a tired smile.

“Night, Scar-head.”

“Ooo, so original.”

“Fuck off, go to sleep.”

-

There was no way it would last. Wrapped up in their bubble, knowing no one else could understand what they had been through better than each other, they were happy. Their friends didn’t fully get it, but generally opted to look on in bemusement. Ron insisted he’d ‘jinx the ferret’ if Draco tried anything funny, and Pansy promised Harry that if he hurt Draco, she’d hurt him more. Since she’d been waving a particularly sharp knife as she chopped up vegetables for their dinner, Harry took her very seriously. But at least from their friends they knew it came from a place of love.

The first time they went on an actual date, they knew _The Prophet_ was there taking pictures. They did their best to ignore them. When the story ran in the paper the next day – _Saviour of the Wizarding World Getting Cosy with Former Death Eater_ – they did their best to laugh it off. The next time, though, someone tried to hex Draco. So they stuck to Muggle neighbourhoods. Then Draco started getting death threats. Harry made him report them to the Ministry, but it got harder and harder for Draco to leave his flat, let along get consulting work. It got to the point where a date consisted of the two of them eating takeaway on Harry’s couch.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Harry said as they sat across from each other, backs against opposite armrests, legs tangled together while they balanced takeaway curry on their laps. “If this keeps up, neither of us will be able to leave the flat, and that’s not living, that’s house arrest.”

“What do you suggest?” Draco asked. He scowled and poked at his paneer tikka masala with his fork. “We can’t fight everyone who sends me a death threat. I know, I dealt with this shit after my trial for almost a year.”

Harry sighed. “No, I know.” He frowned and moved his butter chicken to the coffee table. “And the Auror department hasn’t been keen on the idea of providing personal security guards just so we can get groceries. I asked.” He let out another sigh and crossed his arms over his chest as he thought. “Maybe we could publish our own statement in _The Prophet_. Tell everyone to calm down, that we’re adults in a consenting relationship and to leave us the hell alone.” Draco pulled a face. Harry shook his head and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “You got a better idea?” he asked, hooking his glasses back on.

Draco shrugged. He did not. Or, rather, he had an idea, but it was not one he wanted to consider. “I could leave,” he suggested, not looking Harry in the eye. “If we’re not together, they’ll leave you alone.”

Harry kicked him.

“Hey!”

“I’m not the one I’m worried about, you dunce,” Harry pointed out. His jaw was set and there was a determined look in his eyes. “And I’m not breaking up with you just because other people don’t like us together. I just got you, I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Draco bit his lip as a fountain of emotions bubbled up in his throat. He swallowed and set his takeaway on the coffee table so that he could mirror Harry’s crossed arms. “You said it yourself,” he argued, his voice thick, “This isn’t living, the way we’re carrying on. It would be better for the both of us if I just… disappear.”

Harry scoffed. “Fuck that,” he said, eloquent as ever. “Listen, let’s try my idea first, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll both run away to Iceland.”

Draco pouted. “Iceland’s cold,” he whined with a teasing glint in his eye. “What about France? I have family over there.”

Harry grinned. “France sounds nice,” he said. He crawled over to Draco, straddling Draco’s lap and tilting Draco’s chin up to look him in the eye. Draco found that without even thinking about he had put his hands on Harry’s waist, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “So we’re in agreement?” Harry asked. “We’ll write to _The Prophet_ , and you’re not going to run out on me?”

Draco gave him a small smile, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the V of Harry’s hips. “Agreed,” he murmured. “But if it doesn’t work, we’re off to France. The Malfoys have a nice little villa in the south. There’s an orchard, bee hives, a couple of goats. Just a small village, no one else for miles.”

“Sounds nice,” Harry murmured, smiling against Draco’s lips as he leaned forward. “Can’t imagine you keeping bees though.”

Draco grinned. “I’m full of surprises,” he said. Just to prove his point, he flipped them around so that Harry was beneath him, his knees framing Draco’s hips and his mouth open in a surprised ‘o’. Draco set almost immediately to kissing and sucking at Harry’s neck, attacking the sensitive spots behind his ear and where his neck met his shoulder. Harry squirmed beneath him with a pleased little smirk on his lips.

“God, I love you,” Harry sighed. They both froze as they simultaneously realised what he said. Draco pulled back to look at him. Harry swallowed. “Er, I mean…”

Draco grinned. “I love you, too, you dick,” he said. “But of course you have to be the first one to say it.”

Harry laughed in relief. “Then get down here and give us a kiss, _love_.”

“As you wish, _dear_.”

-

About a week after Harry’s article in _The Prophet_ ran, the death threats stopped. Not all at once, but gradually they became more half-hearted and less explicit until the last one showed up attached to a scraggly looking little owl on Draco’s doormat. All it read was – ‘I’ll kill you if you hurt him.’ Draco scoffed.

“This is nothing,” he told the owl after he fed it a couple of treats and gave it a few scritches. “They don’t even say how they want to kill me. Ruins my tally, though. I had a bet with Potter that I would be murdered by poisoning, that’s the most popular one apparently. He disagreed. But you probably don’t want to hear what he thought.” The owl didn’t seem to want to leave Draco now that it had delivered the note, so Draco brought it with him to his next case. The Healer in charge of the clinic frowned at the scruffy owl perched on his shoulder but didn’t comment. For the amount he was paying Draco, he couldn’t afford to ask questions.

That evening, the owl was still happily attached to Draco’s shoulder, having gone to sleep there shortly after he had finished for the day. When Harry came over, Draco was reading a book in his favourite armchair while the owl dozed, half-leaning against Draco’s head. Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco shrugged his free shoulder.

“It didn’t want to go back to its owner, apparently,” said Draco in a low voice so as not to wake the owl. “I imagine I’ll probably get a Howler for stealing it soon, but I’m not going to just kick it out. Look at it. It’s skin and bones.”

Harry smiled fondly at him. He sat on the arm of the chair and stroked the sleeping owl with one finger. The owl opened one bleary yellow eye, let out a low hoot, then went back to sleep.

“Wonder what his name is,” Harry murmured, now carefully investigating the bald patches on the owl’s body and the feathers missing from the tail. The owl gave another hoot, disgruntled at Harry’s poking and prodding. “I’m sorry,” he told the owl, “I just want to have a good look at you. Someone’s not been treating you right. Looks like you’ve been pecked by some other bird half to death, haven’t you? Poor thing. No wonder it doesn’t want to go back.”

Draco reached up and gave the owl a gentle scratch on the back of its head. “How about we call you Scorpius?” he asked it with a half-smile. The owl, now realising that it was not going to get a decent rest with the two of them fawning over it, blinked at Draco with a satisfied hoot.

“Draco and Scorpius,” said Harry, mulling it over. “I like it. It fits. Hullo, Scorpius.”

“I’ve never been happy to get a death threat before,” said Draco with a grin. “But if Scorpius here hadn’t dropped onto my doorstep, who knows what would have happened to him.”

“Another one?” Harry asked, looking concerned. Draco gave another lop-sided shrug.

“Just the one today, though,” he pointed out. “And I got an owl out of it. All things considered, it’s an improvement.”

“So we’re not going to have to move to France?” Harry asked with a teasing grin. Draco laughed and shook his head.

“I don’t think we will. Although I wouldn’t mind a holiday there sometime.”

Harry planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Maybe next summer. Would you like that, Scorpius?”

The owl gave a happy little hoot.


End file.
